The Stray
by MacDixon Love
Summary: Daryl is broken, and no one can fix that. Or so it appears. But can a certain do-good-ing cop pick up all the tiny pieces and put them back together? Will Daryl let him? AU. Slash. Daryl/Rick.
1. Troubles

**A/N: Okay so this is the first fic. I've EVER posted…. So phew um my word processor absolutely hates Merle haha Dixons are spell check's worst nightmare…. I hope you guys like it! ~MacDixy**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Walking Dead or any of the characters. All rights go to their respected owners…. Just let me play with the action figures for a while ****J I'll put them back, I swear.**

**Warning: mentions of rape, slight brother on brother violence, language, Merle.**

The Stray.

Chapter 1 Troubles

Merle stumbled through the alley in a happily drugged haze, glad he remembered the way to Daryl's apartment by heart. It was also very close to his latest slut's drug den, but she'd kicked him out again. He struggled up the busted outside stairs that led to his younger brother's second floor apartment. Reaching the door, he rejoiced slightly, ready to annoy, tease, and pester the smaller man. Free booze was an added bonus.

"Darleena," Merle howled boisterously to the worn splintered surface, bringing his knuckles to it. "Baby brother, come on out 'ere," He laughed as the neighbors screamed for him to "shut the hell up" though he only pounded his thick fist against the door twice as loudly. "_Darleena!_" He was in this for the long haul, knowing that eventually Daryl would open the door for him, always did no matter the hour. The hour was currently two in the morning, midday for Merle Dixon.

"What do you want, Merle?" the quiet, cracked reply wasn't the normal welcome Merle got, "Aintcha gonna let me in baby brother?" Daryl had probably been in a deep sleep, which explained his lateness to answering the door and his odd sounding voice. The lock slid out of place, and the door was cracked open. Daryl had his back to the door, walking back to the small kitchen/ dinning room area of his dump. That was odd. Merle's brother usually answered the door bleary eyed and biting tongued. He'd throw "fuck ya's" and "shut the hell ups", Merle would tease him, call him girl's names. That was the drill, that was fun. Merle wanted the yelling brother, not this quiet boring one.

"Darleena, wake the hell up!" Merle closed the door behind him as he made his way to his brother. "Ya got comp'ny!" He punctuated his sentence with a sound clap to Daryl's back, not expecting the reaction at all.

Daryl flinched hard, away from the hand invading his space, tripping over his feet and landing on the floor in his attempt to face his attacker. The splintered floor bit into his hands and his bare feet. He just felt so weak. He just wanted this confusion to end. He didn't want this fear or even the bitter numbness. Most of all he **didn't **want to be touched.

Merle stared in horror at the man looking up at him from the floor. He looked like Daryl, same eyes, same hair, same scowl, but it wasn't Daryl at all. His eyes didn't hold their fire. His hair was disheveled and limp. His scowl was weak and emotionless. There were also tears streaming down his face. Daryl wouldn't cry. Daryl doesn't cry. Merle knew for a fact that Daryl Everett Dixon, his baby brother, hadn't cried since he was eight. But it was happening now. That was Daryl, and those were tears.

Any high Merle had been clinging to immediately rushed out of his system. He didn't think he'd ever been his sober. Extreme nerve shattering fear replaced his every thought. What could be so bad that Daryl Dixon would cry over it? Was he shot? Stabbed? Cut? Punched? Robbed? None of those seemed like decent explanations for this. Daryl wouldn't cry over those things, they'd already been done to him, some even by Merle himself. There was no blood visible on Daryl's white t-shit or his loose worn jeans. What the hell was going on?

"Daryl, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Merle hadn't enunciated a sentence fully in his life until now. A shuttering breath was in taken before he had the strength to reply. "Nothin' Merle," he wouldn't meet his eyes, but Merle saw their flat coin like appearance, "Nothin'." The younger brother repeated again no more than a whisper. The elder knew that was complete bullshit, like hell something wasn't wrong. He wanted to scream, kick, and punch the answer out if he had to. Avenge whatever the fuck happened to his baby brother. But Daryl was trembling. The strongest man Merle knew was sitting in front of him, on the floor, quaking like a leaf. This was not a time for violence.

Merle felt sick to his stomach as he remembered the harsh winter that their father had forgotten about them, not turned on the heat, and had left teenaged Merle with a snot nosed, sock footed Daryl. That had been the only time Daryl had trembled, near frost bitten, and forced to huddle against his brother. But here again was that shivering four year old.

Rubbing his shaved head with a sigh, Merle sank to the floor in front of Daryl. He moved slowly trying to not frighten the small animal-like boy with red rimmed eyes. "Daryl," the dark haired man looked up from under his brow, "who done this to ya, son?" he attempted to display his affection and comfort his brother with a pat to his knee, but the violent jerk Daryl gave showed his good intentions the door. Daryl tilted his head down in shame, he couldn't tell Merle what had happened. Who knows what the dumb skin head would do. But would that really matter? A part of Daryl wanted to tell him. Watch Merle explode. Be disgusted with him. Kick his ass. Then Merle would go out on a hunt. He probably would come back covered in human blood, bearing good news. Daryl liked the idea, he was so ashamed though.

Merle, though, wasn't having any of this. He saw his little brother shut himself in, crawl into a dark corner of his mind. That just won't allowed in a Dixon household. He'd of course forgotten he was speaking to a Dixon, all that mushy shit he'd tried just wouldn't cut the cake. With a sick smile Merle visciously gripped Daryl by the back of his neck, pulling the young man awkwardly to his knees. Now he could see new bruises that hadn't been visible before. A hand width's purple ring wound itself around Daryl's pale neck like a nasty collar. Small hickey-like marks littered his flesh, along with flowering fist sized bruises in varying places on his arms, yet his face was untouched. Merle didn't understand the bruises, he simply continued his assault.

"Now you listen here boy, yer gonna tell me what happened to ya 'fore I choke the life out of ya," he placed his other meaty hand on his brother's neck, beginning to increase pressure on the already marked skin. Daryl didn't struggle like he had on the other occasions Merle had decided to play this game. The normally bright blue eyes met Merle's dully, not even bothering with his scowling façade. Merle tightened his hands around Daryl's throat a bit more making Daryl crack completely. He couldn't do this, he didn't care any more. Let him be disgusted with him, he was tired of getting choked within an inch of is life. Those fuzzy black spots on his vision egged him on. "Raped." Daryl mouthed the word, all the breath in his body having left him long before. Seeing his victim's lips move, Merle almost completely released his grip. "What was that, baby brother?" Merle leaned in close, placing his grimy ear to his brother's mouth, "Didn't hear ya." Daryl's oxygen intake was violent and dizzying.

"He raped me." Was Daryl's broken response as Merle dropped his grip and Daryl started sobbing.


	2. Numbnut Doofus

**A/N: I figured I should post the chapters I've written so far, close together so I give y'all fine folks more than just a… well, huge cliffhanger… poor Daryl. I felt so evil holding my pencil and well… yeah …. Sorry Daryl…. well lets hope Norm stays away from this site for his own mental health! Thanks to everyone that reviewed so far! You are all amazing.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own squat. Make nothin' from this, purely for entertainment.**

**Warnings: Dar's potty mouth, rape, internal angst…**

The Stray.

Chapter 2 Numb-nut Doofus

Rick sat slumped over a stack of paperwork that's height could rival the Chrysler building. Being a desk drone seriously sucked, even if it was only for tonight. Rick hadn't been thinking when he offered to help a younger police officer out by taking their shift so that the younger man could spend time with his "hot date." So, here Rick sat, three A.M. and drowning in forms, reports, and some sort of spread sheet that Rick was yet to decifer. It had been a pretty quiet night at the station having only had one drunk and disorderly so far, maybe there was hope for sneaking a nap in. At least he could zone out into a near sleep trance, anything to be away from these damn things. Rick shuffled the stack to the far side of the desk preparing a nice space wide enough for his folded arms and head to rest comfortably. He eased his cheek into the coarse material of his sleeve already drifting off to sleep.

The door to the station was ripped open banging wildly against the wall, the sudden gust of wind scattering papers. Rick nearly peed his pants. He'd awoken so violently he'd spilled out of his chair and bashed his head against the desk behind him. With the leverage of his desk he managed to get his sleeping legs to hold him, preparing to launch himself at whatever idiot had woken him.

"Get yah lazy pig ass over here and help ma brotha," the hulking skinhead standing in the doorway growled. Rick immediately threw any thought of reprimand away. The guy was way scary.

"Er- um," Rick hastily wiped away the healthy drool string from his lip, "if he is injured, you need to take him to the emergency room." Rick noticed for the first time the smaller man behind the skinhead, presumably the brother. The kid looked like a male model, lanky, tanned, and dark, and he was a kid, maybe twenty three at most. The model wore a scowl that would make any sane person cringe in fear or run away, though his brother was not affected by it. The skinhead gripped the model by his collar , shoving him in Rick's direction, "Alright Darleena, I done my brotherly duties, call me up when yah got a name." And with that the hulk of a man turned around mumbling a barely audible "pussy ass cops" leaving Rick with a very pissed Daryl.

After killing the older Dixon with his eyes Daryl turned the full force of his icy glare on Rick, who was totally lost. How did the big guy want Rick to help his brother? Why did the big guy leave? As handsome as the dark haired man in front of him was, Rick didn't want to be alone with him. Those blue eyes were looking a bit crazed.

"I gotta fill a form out or some shit?" Rick hadn't expected such a gruff voice to come out of the young looking man. Form? What form? Those freakishly blue eyes made him so confused, and more than a little nervous. The young guy cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his t-shirt clad chest. Rick was tempted to check his officer uniform for holes, 'cause man, this guy was staring bullets.

"Oh!" duh, he was a cop, "uh- yeah. No, no forms…." he trailed off in confusion. Were there forms? Damn, when had a simple victim's report gotten so complicated. With a sigh Rick collected his tangled thoughts avoiding male model's glare. "Please, come over to my desk." Rick spread his arm awkwardly allowing Daryl to pass. The younger muttering something very similar to what his brother had said. Good to hear their sparkling opinion of law enforcement. Once they were seated Rick awkwardly stacked his papers appearing to have a purpose. How did these things go again? "So Mister…" He put his sweetest, most welcoming smile on, Hoping that blue eyes would drop the hostility.

Daryl was pissed, and no, he wasn't dropping the hostility anytime soon, so fuck you. He didn't deserve any of this shit. It wasn't fair. Daryl had been attacked. He'd been unable to defend himself, and he felt so ashamed for that. This… incident had shattered him. He'd only just now rebuilt. So that was it, the bastard had broken, stolen, broken, and raped his every semblance of a life. Now everything was held together by scotch tape and fury. His daddy had made him broken in the first place, now some random prick wanted to do it all over again? What the fuck?! He'd also actually shown emotion for once too. He'd been so numb, so confused when he'd gotten home. Then Merle had come over and Daryl had his breakdown. Merle had sort of flipped out screaming for blood. Merle would be happy to slit whatever sick son of a bitch that hurt Daryl down his throat, let him choke on the blood. But Daryl had no idea who the son of a bitch was. He hadn't seen the guy's face, he'd been cornered in the alley behind his apartment, only heard the guy's voice. It was so fucking sickening. Daryl was so sick. Then Merle up and dumped him at the police station in hopes that maybe they could figure out who the attacker was, that way the Dixon boys could make him adeqauetley suffer. But the police were obviously run by a ton of numb nut doofuses with this fucking smiley idiot as his only help. It just rubbed him the wrong way. The hell was with that creepy smile? And Mister? Christ, no one had called him that before. He let out an annoyed _tch_ sound. "Jus' call me Daryl, skip tha Mister shit." he grunted, glare back to its full force.

"Oh- er, right." Rick blushed brightly, "I'm Rick Grimes, by the way." To escape the frightening wrath that was Daryl's eyes he rummaged in the desk drawer for a notepad. Daryl just made another annoyed scoffing sound. "So, why not tell me what happened?" An innocent enough question, but it seemed to spark a whole new kind of fiery anger behind Daryl's eyes. "uh…" maybe it was best to build this guy's trust before he jumped right into the action. He had always prided himself in being so people oriented, had even gotten the social butterfly certificate in seventh grade. Well this redneck sounding, model looking, blue eyed bastard had yanked the plug on any decently coherent sentence the minute he walked in the door. Not that it was his fault, this guy was scary! No where near as scary s his brother though. The older guy's body had screamed "bash your skull in with a tire iron" where this guy was more of the "tie you up and kill you with a million paper cut" sort of guy. Rick wasn't really into the whole pain kink thing…

If Rick wasn't trained in reading people's expressions he would have missed the queasy look that passed Daryl's face. Extremely subtle, the only hint of discomfort being the brief stitch of his eyebrows and the slouching lower in his seat. The kid's body read something like "if you fucking come near me I will ram a blunt object through your skull and lick the blood," Daryl was suddenly not the only one feeling queasy. "So, Daryl!" breaking through his graphically violent mental images and avoiding spilling his guts onto Daryl's comfortable looking work boots, Rick said a little too loudly, "That big guy- your brother- he seemed nice," trailing off in the natural cop trap Rick was so used to speaking in. Come on, open up, relax. He settled against his chair crossing his legs and trying to keep the subject-er- victim (?) at ease. This felt so much like the interrogation room that Rick was tempted to slap some cuffs on someone- and based on the brothers' apparent love of "pigs" would it really have been Daryl's first time in the things?

Daryl snorted, "Yeah, well, feed 'im an' he sticks 'round I guess." Alright…? Rick just felt even more awkward if that were possible, letting out a chocked laugh since he wasn't really sure if Daryl had been joking or not. "Is there a big age difference between you and your brother?" Without any other idea of how to connect with him, Rick just stuck to the brother, hopefully it'd be the right choice. Daryl grumbled something unintelligible and rubbed the back of his acheing skull. Damn was officer smiley a pain in the ass. He had forgotten about the bruises on his arm but quickly remembered from the pained expression on the cop's face. It probably had been a mistake to forgo wearing a jacket.

The inky purple bruise on Daryl's upper arm was obviously fresh. Rick could just make out individual purple lines as fingers. It looked like someone had wrapped a hand around Daryl's arm from behind. It made Rick sad that Daryl didn't trust him enough to out rightly say he was attacked but now Rick knew at least. "You want to tell me where those bruises are from, Daryl?" his eyebrows sank back, creeping down his forehead. Great, a bruise decides to play hide 'n seek with officer friendly here and the whole plan goes to shit. Not that Daryl really had a plan It had all been Merle's idea to go to the cops- which had surprised the hell out of Daryl, the guy left town if there was a cop within a mile's radius of him- why hadn't they though of a plan to trick the pigs into helping them? Then it hit Daryl, Merle expected him to actually tell them what happened. He hadn't thought of that. Why hadn't he though of that? He didn't fight Merle too much on the way to the station since he'd assumed his big brother had big plans in that endless crazed arsenal of a brain he had. Way to misjudge a situation. Well he was going to have to tell this smiling ass clown **something.. **Maybe wouldn't need to go into specifics… "Uh, yeah, some prick jumped me…" he nodded so dumbo cop bought it, Daryl figured. "Why I'm here." he added, not exactly sure how to do this, talking to a cop wasn't really on his list of things he's love to do tonight. Neither had being raped, but fuck life, 'cause shit happens.

"Okay, so you were mugged?" Rick was jotting things into the small notepad at a rate Daryl didn't like.

"Nah, not quite," well it wasn't like he could claim the guy took his wallet, he still had it and the eight bucks inside, no the guy hadn't taken that. He'd just taken everything else. _My sanity. My composure, _Daryl thought, _fuck, even my manhood! I even cried cuz of that fucking motherless goddamned- _his thoughts broke off into a confusing roiling mass of raged hatred. Daryl unconsciously popped his knuckles making Rick wince at the bone on bone sound.

"So, a fight?" Rick scratched something in the notepad out, replacing it with another quickly jotted down line. This whole notepad shit was making Daryl feel like he'd been shoved into some cheap ass therapist's office. That only made him more pissed. He could feel blood pounding in his temple and off handedly thought that maybe he should get his blood pressure checked, this whole mess was making it sky rocket- not that he could afford any meds if he needed them. "No, not a fight…" Rick didn't miss the confused look lurking in the zircons depths of Daryl's eyes. Ruling out the possibilities seemed to be working now that Daryl was showing some semblance of cooperation, but really at this rate would Rick ever get any answers? The kid had come here for help so why was he so reluctant? Rick had the sudden feeling that he was trying to coax an alley cat out from behind a dumpster. You had to be patient, take your time and give it treats bit by bit then maybe it would come out, only if it wanted to. Show it too much attention and the thing would bolt in the other direction, never to be seen again- plus Daryl's uncombed hair kind of looked like a stray cat's, seriously did he even brush it?

Repressing a sigh, Rick sat his notepad on the desk and leaned against the cool metal and wood surface. The late hour was starting to wear on his brain, his eyes beginning to feel strained hours ago. This whole… interrogation with Daryl was bound to take a lifetime and Rick was losing patience. Why help a person who didn't even really want it? The reluctance was obviously there. The glaring, the scowling, the kid wasn't the most fun to be around, and obviously didn't want to be there. Rick wanted to be home, he wanted to lay down next to his wife, he wanted to kiss baby Carl goodnight. Why had he agreed to take this damn shift?! The sooner this pissy little kid spit out whatever it was the sooner they could both get home. Rick to his nice, cozy little house and cutesy family, and Daryl to whatever alley way he'd crawled out of. Rick felt guilty for the thought. Sleep had made him bitter towards poor Daryl. He wanted to help Daryl with whatever his problem was if only he knew how. There was this look that Daryl just couldn't hide that left all his bitterness behind and screamed lost little boy, Rick simply couldn't abandon someone like that. He'd find Daryl out, no matter how long it took, his family could wait. "Daryl, please tell me happened to you"

He was near another breakdown but this time he wasn't sure if he wanted to cry of break things, kill people, set things on fire. The latter sounded very tempted, but the tickling pain behind his eyes made the former seem more likely. Daryl shoved the palms of his hands hard against his eyes, forcing any tears to the back of his skull. No way was he crying in front of Rick Grimes, desk monkey extraordinaire. "Fuck!" he yelled, angry at Rick, angry at the tears, angry at himself, angry for being unable to protect himself, but mostly angry at whatever monster had done this to him. "I don't fucking know what happened, alright?!" The truth had never been spoken more clearly. Daryl tore his hands away from his face, standing up and violently pacing around the room. He needed to hit something. He needed a cigarette , but of course didn't have any on him.

"Okay, Daryl, calm down," Rick soothed, "Just start-"

"Yah got any smokes?" Daryl didn't even realize Rick had been talking, the need for nicotine more important than everything else.

"Uh," what was it about Daryl that made all his words run and hide? Reduced to "uh"s and "er"s, Rick didn't like it. Rick also didn't smoke, hadn't since before college. Lori didn't like smoking, so Rick didn't smoke. But the officer Rick was filling in for smoked. Rummaging through the several messy drawers, Rick finally found his prize. He handed over the pack of Marlboros to the pacing Daryl who lit up with a fluidly practiced motion. He stopped pacing and plunked down into the chair sucking on the sweet paper wrapped goodness. Damn, cigarettes were good.

Rick was just happy that the pacing was over, otherwise there would soon be a path etched into the floor, Daryl had made each footfall twice more violent that Rick thought possible. Eyeing the cigarettes, Rick took one with a sigh and held out a hand for the metal zippo lighter Daryl had fished from his back pocket. Rick took it, ignoring Daryl's raised eyebrow, lighting his own smoke. Technically there was no smoking in the station, but what the captain didn't know, wouldn't kill him. Same went for Lori.

Rick took his first long drag on the thing, sputtering on the unfamiliar smoke and burning sensation. Daryl smirked knowingly, almost laughing at the cop's ridiculous looking face. Daryl didn't exactly like the guy but he appreciated his efforts in making Daryl feel even minutely more comfortable. "So," Rick stated when he was done gulping air, "Why don't you start from the beginning, take your time." He decided to skip the notepad this time to Daryl's infinite relief.

"Yeah," Daryl sucked in another drag of poisonous air, collecting his thoughts, "So I was bartendin' tonight at the Black Leaf til twelve," Rick knew the place well, bad side of town, most people went in there looking for a fight. So that was where Daryl worked? "Pretty quiet night," Daryl continued around his cigarette, chewing absently at the filter, "'cept this one douche bag and his skank, 'more fuckin' olives, where's the damn olives?'" He changed his pitch making it match the annoying female's. Rick laughed easily, seeing Daryl relax as he retold his night's events. He hadn't expected Daryl to be so normal. "Anyways," Daryl blew out smoke expelling the tangent he'd almost launched into about the fucking olives. Seriously though, who the hell wants those nasty things in their drinks? Couldn't be any worse than the fruity shit some chicks drank, he reckoned. Bartending was a good job for him, thanks to his experiences with Merle, unless you wanted him to make something fruity or girly. None of the Black Leaf customers were looking for tropical relief so Daryl was in luck. "I leave to walk home, since it's just like three blocks from my apartment," he trailed off tensing a bit at the memory. "Felt like someone was watcin'" me the whole way home, but it's the city, yah know? Someone's almost always watchin' you, it ain't like the woods." Daryl seemed to have forgotten the cigarette burning low between his fingers he'd become so wrapped up in his story. "Then I got to the alley outside my apartment. I had at stop an' get my keys out cuz there aren't any lights back there," He was biting into his thumb with a glazed look that Rick doubted he even knew he was doing it, or even remembered that Rick was there. "So then the fucker jumped me." Daryl spat out with a quiet ferocity that made him decide Daryl was much scarier that his brother. He was meeting Rick's gaze with those crazed eyes again as Daryl ground his cigarette to bits between his fingers. Rick wished he would look away.

"Shoved me face first into the wall so I'd be too stunned to fight back," Daryl leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, getting closer to Rick, making the officer squirm under the glacial stare. He was saying all this with such fierce coldness it sounded like he was making Rick out to be the offender. "Oh, I got a couple good hits in, but it wasn't enough. The sick fuck didn't want money, trust me I fuckin' tried that. Nah, 'that would be too easy', he said. You know what he did Rick?" Daryl didn't care anymore, he was getting that dark spirally feeling he got before everything blew up, he wanted to hurt Rick, or at least make him share in the sick discomfort Daryl just wanted to go away. "He undid my belt," Rick gulped in fear. Daryl's face was too close, his eyes were too cold, and his voice too empty, "tied my hands up with it, and he fucking raped me." Daryl's eyes went unfocused again, "Not a curtosey lick, nothing." He went back to silence, his face contorted in disgust. Dammit, now it was out. He looked back up to Rick, maybe the officer was just as disgusted with him as Daryl was. Maybe he was disgusted by Daryl, after all he did just have some freak's- he clamped down on the thought unwilling to think about the exact mechanics behind the incident.

Rick was just shocked. How could anyone over power Daryl? The guy wasn't bulky like his brother but there was the calculatory look of a fighter in his eyes. He also wasn't devoid of muscles. The rounded bulges of bicep under white cotton was plenty evidence. Rick had been afraid of Daryl, but now he just felt sorry for him. The kid had to be scared, he'd just been raped. A normal rape victim would crawl into a fetal position for weeks and not speak a word. Here was Daryl, though, right out of a romance novel cover shoot- one of those really cheap smutty ones that always have some shirtless lumberjack on the cover- spitting, clawing, and throwing punches the whole way down. He couldn't believe how strong Daryl was. Rick knew if roles had been reversed there was no way he could have Daryl's outlook. He felt a sudden familiar protectiveness over the dark haired man, one he'd only ever shared for Lori and Carl before. There was just some mystery Rick needed to solve behind those bluer than blue eyes and under that messy hair.

Daryl didn't like the look doofus general was giving him. Sure, it was much better than that dumb smile of his, but it was almost creepier, and much too real for Daryl's taste. He felt like Rick was dissecting him, pinning his hands to the table and gutting him. Suddenly the chair wasn't so comfortable, he just wanted to leave. He was done talking to this cop, and he was just done. What other word was there? He grabbed the smokes, taking them as compensation for his little story. _Hope the cops get a big kick out of that, _he thought sourly,_ Daryl Dixon, white trash, redneck, good for nothing pussy. Can't even take care of himself. _He stormed toward the door not caring if Rick followed and found himself alone in the parking lot. Alone and without his truck. He'd forgotten Merle would have taken the powder blue monstrosity with him. Daryl would have to walk, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

He stood in the mouth of the police station parking lot contemplating what route he should take. It didn't really matter it was maybe a six mile walk, but anyway he took would lead him right back to the alley. Right back to the place where his life got even more fucked up.

"Daryl?" Rick's tentative voice nearly gave Daryl a heart attack, he jerked violently having been ripped out of his mental map, "Jesus H. Christ! Yah tryin' kill me?!" he clutched his chest and glared at the innocent looking cop.

"Sorry," Rick smiled nicely, trying to hold back his laughter, "Sorry. You look like you need a ride," he motioned towards a silver Corolla that made Daryl cringe. Truth was he really did need the ride. Truth was he wouldn't mind company that much, even if it was from officer smiley. Truth was being alone didn't sound so perfect right then. He shifted from foot to foot then nodded and strode towards the car. Let Rick take him home, better than walking anyhow.

Rick was so glad when Daryl accepted the ride home. He wanted Daryl to be safe and the streets held dangers that Rick didn't want Daryl to run into. On the walk to the car Rick began to panic, his newly acquired social anxiety flaring up. He really didn't know how to ride in a car with another guy. Did he open the door for him? What was he supposed to talk about? When had it all become so damn confusing? Daryl, seeming unaffected by whatever disease Rick had caught, opened the passenger door and got in without a second thought. Rick again found himself thinking, how does everything come so easily to Daryl? It was like he was immune to confusion. He jumped in the car with Daryl and prepared for the long car ride home, that promised to be the most awkward situation of either man's life.

**A/N: phew! That was a long one! So I'm thinking of Murphy from Boondock Saints as this Daryl. Yeah? I mean scruffy dark hair and stuff? ****J ~MacDixy**


	3. Too Gray, Gray

**A/N: So I was thinking I'd go through all my notebooks and post any of my decent fics so y'all may be seeing some Boondock ficts or maybe even The Killing stuff! But of course I'm still gonna update this one… it's kind of my baby.**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own any of the Walking Dead characters… dang.**

**Warning: Slashy thoughts, language, Dixon tendencies….**

The Stray.

Chapter 3 Too Gray, Gray

Daryl flopped awkwardly into the tiny Corolla, already feeling like a giant in the tiny, confined space. The upholstery blended together into an amazingly bland gray that made Daryl uncomfortable. The gray was just too clinical. In his quirk, Daryl checked the back seat- a habit aquired from Merle, of course- finding, to his surprise, a child's car seat just as gray as the rest of the interior. How weird. Daryl didn't know how old Rick was, but he couldn't be more than a year or maybe two years older than him: much too young to father a child. "Yah gotta kid er sumthin," Daryl hadn't meant to sound so incredulous, or so gruff- but that was just Daryl.

Rick smiled, never taking his eyes from the road, "Yes, I have a son. His name is Carl." the pride was bill-boarded in Rick's tone like he had to hold back every accomplishment the little man had made in one drawn out sentence. Daryl scoffed. Of course Rick would be one of those father- not that Daryl knew any- bring pictures to any event to show them off, living vicariously through their kid. Daryl hated people like that, but he couldn't help the blip of envy toward Carl. The little guy had no idea how lucky he was.

He fell silent after that, straining to hear the muted notes of _Sweet Home Alabama_ over the sound of rotating tires, and Rick's strong, even breathing. How could one person be so distracting, Daryl couldn't stop himself from wondering. Every time Daryl zoned into the quiet music and rhythmic guitar he'd only be drawn back to Rick's form next to him. To Daryl's annoyance, he found the man drove exactly like a driving instructor, hands never leaving two and ten, eyes floating to the appropriate mirrors when they weren't plastered to asphalt. He also wore this strange reminiscent smile Daryl had noticed earlier when the officer had coaxed him into telling his story. Daryl didn't like the smile, it was to sleazy too much "I win" in the strained facial muscles. But maybe it was just Daryl's imagination. Rick's shoulders weren't revealed by his officer uniform- or bacon suit as Merle would say- but Daryl could read the defined planes of muscle hidden under the pressed polyester. He could tell Rick was muscled in a purely masculine fashion, but his slight frame made him appear smaller, less intimidating.

Forcing his eyes away from the object of their apparently new attraction, he focused on the tattered hem of his t-shirt. The fabric was abused, overused, stained, and ugly. It was so out of place next to Rick's beautiful tan fabric and shiny black buttons. Really a perfect comparison between the two men. Rick with his clean car and new family, Daryl with his busted, powder blue excuse for transportation, an empty apartment, and the occasional junkie brother. He didn't belong. The only place in this world where people like Daryl should talk to people like Rick was when they were getting locked up. He shrank into the seat, sorely realizing the truth behind his thought. Daryl didn't want to let go, as much as he was certain Rick was some goofy loser, Daryl at least wanted the chance to be friends. Daryl didn't have many friends, so maybe one would do some good. He just wouldn't get the chance.

A few more silent minutes passed with Daryl clasping his eyes shut for dear life wishing for another life and inhaling the older man's scent. He liked the smell. All coffee, new paper, and crisply pressed cloth, it just made Rick, Rick. Daryl had always prided himself on his sense of smell, so he huffed the heady rich fragrance of a life he could never have and committed it to memory. He hated people with money like Rick, people with opportunities he would never have, lives, and families Daryl wouldn't dare to dream of. He hated them with a passion. They made him so angry. They made him so jealous. That just made him angrier at them. People like Rick never got stabbed or mugged walking home. People like Rick didn't have to slave away at three jobs just to pay the light bill and scrape by on the rent. People like Rick never got raped when they were trying to get the key to their home out of their pocket.

In an attempt at calming the agitated twitching in his fingers, Daryl reached for his stolen cigarettes, needing a quick nicotine fix. He brought the pack to his open mouth preparing to draw a wrapped bundle between his lips, but a tanned hand stopped him. He didn't understand at first, Rick's hand cupped the back of his engulfing a majority of the paper prism in his elegant fingers. Daryl just froze in confusion, mouth still open glancing at Rick confusedly.

"Yah want one?" he stumbled over his tongue like he hadn't used it in years, but maybe that's what Rick meant by the gesture. Rick certainly didn't seem like a smoker though.

"No," Rick chuckled good humouredly, "If you wouldn't mind; no smoking in the car," Daryl was put off by how formal he sounded so suddenly, "Lori doesn't allow smoking in here. Sorry." The hell?

"Lori yer wife?" Daryl snorted, finding the situation hilarious and a decent replacement for a smoke. The driver nodded his response still challenging the road to blink evidently. Rick may have a nice job and a nice life, but no way was Daryl tied down to some bitch wife. "So, what?" He shook the officer's hand off of his, meeting Rick's confused glance with a daring leer. "So. What." he repeated, "S'yer fuckin' car, ain't it?" He wrapped his slender lips around a yellow filter, freeing the plant mixture from its prison. "Light the fuck up." with his final words and a theatrical flick of his wrist, the cigarette was lit.

Rick finally broke off his staring match with the pavement, wheeling to look nervously at Daryl. The crazy son of a bitch was going to get him skinned alive. Daryl gave a whole hearted laugh that made him forget any fear he had. Hell, it made him forget he was driving. The sound was so odd, almost broken from under-use, but Rick instantly loved the sound. How had he found himself so dazzled by this strange redneck? It felt like such an honor to be gifted with hearing that tinkling laugh, so worth all his efforts back at the station. It was an above adequate reward for dealing with the snaky redneck. Turning his head back to the street he was startled when he found a slightly damp cigarette dangling at his lips. Daryl was so weird, but Rick found himself sucking happily on their shared cigarette, not a care in the world, like two old school buddies laughing at an ancient personal joke. Rick thoroughly enjoyed the younger man's quiet presence , feeling Daryl's every breath move in the still, confined car. He'd kept his eyes forward the entire drive but his mind was always just right of his body, drinking in Daryl's form like the most coveted of wines. The subtle scruffle above his lip, the broad yet fragile shoulders, the chiseled chest stretching the thin worn tee to its max. It had all been so overwhelming to Rick that he'd clutched the steering wheel like it was his only prevention from molesting the younger man himself.

Rick was petrified. Never having such blatantly homosexual thoughts as he had had the moment Daryl had been dragged into the station, Rick was at a loss. Was he really checking another **man** out? Having a wife and a child, Rick obviously couldn't be gay. It just wasn't possible. He loved Lori- or at least he had once upon a time. This confusion over Daryl was only that; confusion. He'd drive him home, file a report, and that would be that, closed case. But as the Black Leaf came into view on the empty, dark streets, Rick questioned himself. No way did he want to give Daryl up, after all the work he'd put into talking to him- not that talking to Daryl was work per se- and the small reward the messy haired man gave, Rick couldn't give this up. Maybe it was southern stubbornness he didn't really know.

Daryl also saw the familiar sign of the bar and squirmed against the too gray upholstery. Getting closer to the bar meant getting closer to the alley, and Daryl just wasn't okay with that. "You sure you want me to take you home?" Rick asked, seeing Daryl's discomfort though the redneck only grunted and pointed to his home. "Daryl," Rick's hand sought out the other man's without his permission, nervously gripped at the wide wrist, "Are you sure? I have a really comfy couch, and it's warm. You wouldn't have to come back her until daytime." He didn't care that his tone was borderline pleading, he wanted Daryl safe, at home with him. He wanted to know he'd see Daryl again alive and maybe even hear him laugh, even if it did sound like strangling a cat. Rick was too panicked to blame the late hour on his confusing thought, he knew it was just Daryl. Only Daryl, but he needed the reassurance, the "I'll see yah tomorrow" something!

Daryl's lip tweaked upwards in the barest of smiles as he gently pried the needy hand off of his wrist. He hated when people touched him, but with Rick it was alright. Rick was from a different galaxy, not even familiar with Daryl's terms so it was okay. He peeled away from the too clean car interior and stepped out of any hope for befriending Rick, knowing that walking away now would end whatever fantasy he'd been happily fueling on the drive home.

"Night of-fa-sa," and Daryl walked away.

**A/N: okay yeah, yeah I know, dang you Daryl and your hard head! Thank you my little reviewers, you were all super cool, I hope I don't disappoint!**


	4. A Slight Change

**A/N: I'm kinda bummed how short these chapters are! Dang! Shane is weird. Like I really hate the guy, but I really love him at the same time…. Yah know? Okay guys, give me your opinions on Daryl/ Carol. Norm said he's going to "hit that" Do you think it's gonna happen? Do you want it to happen? *winces* I hope it doesn't happen. Feel free to flame your ship opinions in the review box thingymabob!**

**Disclaimer: come on guys let's recite it! I own none of the Walking Dead characters, nor do I make a profit from writing this fiction, nor do I think Daryl is gay *sigh***

**Warning: Angst, language, ruining of perfectly good lungs.**

The Stray.

Chapter 4 A Slight Change.

Rick found himself at his desk staring dazedly at the settling dust particles ambling throughout the stuffy police station. The pencil between his fingers tilted precariously but never quite gave up its struggle to cling to him. His brownish hair had developed an uncombed look, not having been able to drag his perverse mind from the memory of Daryl, his sure strides, and the sultry sway to his hips. It seemed like a lifetime since the brute had sauntered out of his vehicle to live a life wherever- all Rick knew was that it was away from him- when really it had been more hours. He hadn't decided what disturbed him more, having feelings for someone other that his wife, or having feelings for another man. Rick had nothing against the gays, wasn't comfortable around the flamboyantly so, but really did that count? Men had just never interested Rick. It was frightening to find that something he'd been so sure of all his life was now being questioned. His sexuality had always been so black and white, so cut and dry, he couldn't be gay. It had to be physically impossible. But of course, his mind was drawn away yet again, back to the lair of the haunting blue eyes. Rick was concerned he'd be sick. Something as substantial as sexuality couldn't be changed overnight, it didn't work that way, it couldn't. He cautiously searched his memory for any hint of attraction to another man before last night. Na-da. Zip. Nothing. A stupid redneck had just decided to crash into his life and bulldoze over his identity with his super sized boots, him being defenseless as a newborn.

He struggled trying to tell himself there were extenuating circumstances, Rick had gotten protective because Daryl had come to him in need. He'd been put in the meeker, feminine position. That was the only answer. Rick was confusing a drive for protecting with physical attraction. As many times as Rick chanted within his mind he knew it wasn't true. The impressive masculine physique and essence of pure male made Rick snort with laughter of his earlier thought of Daryl being meek or feminine. He couldn't rip his mind's eye from the snapshot of a memory of Daryl, elbows on knees, twin blue orbs baring in his direction. The man had looked to him, to Rick, to solve his problems. Rick desperately needed to solve Daryl's problem, and he would happily. Someone had violated Daryl in the most demeaning of ways, and Rick would gladly put a bullet between the eyes of a sick excuse of a man that had done that. Never being one for the violent route he smiled sadly. Something in Rick was changing. Hopefully for the better.

"Whoa, how's the moon doin'?" A thick manila folder slapped against the solid block desk with enough force Rick thought he'd been shot. Shane stood over him smiling toothily, the man he considered his brother taking joy in the small harassment.

"Dammit, Shane, thought I'd died," Rick grabbed at the pencil as it had finally lost its long futile battle. The brute of a man let out a hearty chuckle as he cuffed Rick's ear.

"Ah, come on, man." his eyes twinkled with an old familiar mischief, "Just a little joke," Shane carded a large hand over his head. A head that had recently held dense dark locks, Rick was shocked.

"Well," Rick recovered taking in his friend's buzzed cut hair, "What's with the hair, or lack thereof?" He waved a hand towards Shane's bald scalp. They'd been friends since high school and Rick knew Shane better than himself. He was a creature of habit, almost to the manic level, creating a strict exercise regime along with an impossible dietary system. Shane had also maintained the same hairstyle as the day Rick met him claiming it suited him best. Rick loved his friend and ws happy that he'd managed to make and accept even a small change.

"Yeah," Shane snorted, "thought it best to change." he looked away almost seeming embarrassed, "It was getting a bit outdated," he trailed off as Rick nodded sympathetically, understanding the hard ships of ageing. "Anyways, I wanted you to check out this file, thought maybe you could make some mind of it." He hadn't meant to tune out but Rick's thought were back to Daryl and therefore he was hopelessly lost. "-Merle Dixon being involved." He refocused immediately as Shane lecture ended. Merle? It couldn't be the same as Daryl's brother could he? Rick grabbed for the file excitedly, thanking whatever deity was watching over him for this stroke of luck. He felt so stupid the night before when he realized on the drive home that he didn't know Daryl's last name. Without a last name there could be no paperwork, no case, and no hope of finding the cruel monster that had hurt Daryl. And Rick wanted justice with a vengeance.

He noted Shane eyeing him curiously, no doubt his long time buddy seeing the oddness in Rick's actions that morning. He didn't exactly care what Shane thought, the man always had his opinions and would interject them when he saw fit, so Rick would wait for that. The boring manila did not justify the colorful reports lying inside the Dixon file with a mug-shot of the same skinhead Rick had the pleasure of meeting last night. Drugs, assault, public indecency, it was all there in a compiled work that any criminal would read with pride and envy. The papers painted an intriguing yet expected vision of Merle Dixon, hulking man with love of a good high, a heavy fist, and a sleazy heart. Rick wasn't at all surprised by the multiple misdemeanor charges, but intrigued at the balls it took for Merle to walk into a police station willingly. Most convicted criminals high tailed it at the sight of the place, so the older Dixon must genuinely care for the younger, Rick reasoned.

Listed as current address he also noted that it was on the same street at Daryl's home. The Dixons lived close together or in the same apartment. Rick hoped Merle didn't give the younger Dixon too much trouble though Rick feared the worst, that maybe the darker haired brother was just as bad as Merle.

"Hey Shane," Rick looked up slowly, seeing his friend truly for the first time that morning, "Is there a file on a Daryl Dixon?"

Daryl slumped against the poorly painted cinderblocks of his apartment building, they scratched his back through his dirty t-shirt but couldn't bring himself to care. He rolled his exhaustion clouded head back against the brick, for once glad of the poor lighting on the outside balcony. The view was lovely as well, above him, poorly vinyled roofing, and across the alley from him a bland brick wall- the cause of the lack of light. He was working on his third cigarette since he'd come out here, intending on only one, but his mind wouldn't cooperate. He couldn't focus on the burning material between his fingers long enough to properly enjoy it. Chalk that up on the list of things that bastard had taken from him. He exhaled, watching the entrancing blue-gray cloud float from between his lips into oblivion over is head. Sometimes he wished he could follow the smoke to wherever it disappeared. It didn't have to be chained down to a job, or a family, by money, not even gravity could hold it down. Smoke vanished, the only trace being a lovely lingering smell. The smell of smoke clung to him like a second skin today, being reduced to chain smoking all morning, watching every cigarette he owned disappear into the sky only wishing he could follow.

His hand wandered to his jeans pocket of its own accord, slipping into the warm denim. Something soft clung to his fingers and he wrapped the strands of softness into his palm. He pulled it away from his pocket letting the dark strands glint off the slight light of the alley. Daryl only vaguely remembered ripping the coarse hair from his attacker's scalp. He hardly remembered the bellow the man had made or the punch to the head Daryl had received. At least he had done some damage, even that little helped Daryl feel not so weak. But it was still so little.

**A/N: another super short update! But I updated close together so don't be too mad, lovelies. Ooh, who saw that coming? Give you a buck if you can list all the changes that happened ;)**


	5. The Black Leaf

**A/N: this has been taking longer than I thought, sorry. I'm flying live here guys. I've been having issues with the timeline since I want to do a jump soon…. You'll see. Hope you like. ~MacDixy**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Walking Dead characters, that would be weird.**

**Warnings: language (duh, Dixons), emotional abuse **

The Stray.

Chapter 5 The Black Leaf.

The shower walls were too boring for Daryl to stand, so he clenched his eyes tightly shut until they stung. The water was to hot and his skin was screaming agony, but still he didn't care. He stood under the punishing spray almost taking pleasure in his burning skin. Maybe he'd feel clean for the first time in nine hours. Yeah, it had only been hours since it had happened. Maybe it hadn't really happened at all. There was a piece of Daryl's mind that reveled in the delusion that he hadn't gone through that, hadn't been broken. The evidence pock marked his body though, crushing any hopeful delusions. It was all very frightening. Not what had happened to him, no, he'd been through worse. He could remember scarier things. It was his reaction that scared him. Everything was so dull. Everything was just gray. Colors just weren't colorful, smells- offensive or not- didn't register, even the scalding water of his shower didn't make it through this new thick wall of numbness.

Daryl had just become numb, and that was frightening. He expected himself to break things, throw them against the wall to hear the shatter in the symphony of pain he didn't feel. But he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't even think of proper curses anymore, they just jumble tumbled together in the scattered shithouse of his brain. Things were just too gray, gray. The upholstery of Rick's car had nothing on this. Daryl could almost feel the numbness sinking into everything he had any feeling for. Merle? Who cared where he was. His bucket of a truck that Merle was still trying to convince him needed a gun rack in the back window? Piece of garbage could roll off a cliff. His secluded, quiet apartment? Grayer than dead fish scales. Even hunting held no allure to the once strong hunter. The novacaine numbness sunk into his dead tooth of a life, paralyzing his functions but, again, Daryl couldn't give a shit.

He stood there tilting his head back to the shower's nozzle that was always a little too powerful, morbidly wondering if he could drown in a shower. The water was running cold and his dull attempts to inhale the now cool liquid just made him sputter and snot. He wasn't alone in the apartment anymore, he could hear unbelievably loud elephant footsteps tromping against the cheap carpeting, but he didn't care. Merle knocked hesitantly at the door splitting the sickly silent air and making Daryl reel.

"Daryl?" Daryl. _Wow, it only took me being attacked for him to actually say my name right._ He detachedly smiled though it was painful and humorless. "Yah Merle?" he almost surprised himself; his voice hadn't cracked or squeaked. It sounded normal, maybe a bit on the frigid side of lukewarm, but so was the water.

"Jim called. Said you didn't show up tah work today." Daryl had completely forgotten all about his morning job. Jim, the carpenter on the jobsite Daryl was working at was a good man but did not pardon truancy. Merle didn't either. "Now, I know you been through some shit Dar," the bigger man let out a weighted sigh as if he were talking to a young child that couldn't comprehend life, "But you gotta provide, dammit!" Merle thumped against the wall outside of the bathroom. Daryl had the feeling he was high. His voice sounded watery and uneven. Sleepy yet excited. He wished he'd never been born with a brother, especially some dead weight druggie, moocher like Merle. He'd never say things like that out loud though, after all, he did love his brother. Most days. He just hated the drugs.

"You hear me Daryl? DO YOU HEAR ME?!" Whatever drugs he was on today were making him angry. Why couldn't he just stick to pot? Wasn't that supposed to make you mellow? A man as angry as Merle Dixon did not need things that made him more angry.

"Yeah Merle, I'm sor-"

"Don't give me that 'I'm Sorry' shit, Daryl! Who is gonna pay for this apartment? Huh? Cause it sure as fuck ain't gonna be me! Yer worthless. Always have been, still are. Cant you straighten up for one fucking day? You just gonna lose another job, baby brother, disgracing our name like always. You are the reason people look at us like we crawled out the damn sewer. You hear me?!" another harsh rap against the door "I said DO YOU HEAR ME?! Fuckin' answer me when I'm talking to you boy!"

"Yessir."

"Good. Least you can do something right. Ain't got no damned sense to yah at all. Don't know who momma fucked to get such a retard like you, but he won't bright, that's for damn sure." Daryl blanched, he'd been hearing the same insults since his mother had passed away, but they never got easier. The same things that had been carved into his body and soul countless times before by Merle, by his daddy, even by Merle's friends. The shower wall hurt against his spine but the pain kept him gripping at sanity's ledge. Everything was burning into crumbling charcoal in front of his eyes. He couldn't lose another job, but couldn't make himself leave his home. He couldn't let Merle speak to him this way, but couldn't say the words or hide the drugs that would make it stop. He was trapped by his own mind.

"Daryl." came from the other side of the door. Stern and a falsity of a fatherly tone. "Son, I need you to go to work. Yah know we need you round here badly. Now go on. They be expecting you at the bar in an hour. I best not hear you skipped that too." Daryl numbly reached out to pull the handle down, ceasing the spray. He stepped shakily out the shower, his unfocused eyes dry. He could hear his elder sucking deeply on whatever drugs were today's vice, then the throaty laugh that always accompanied them. "That's right baby brother, you just listen to old Merle. You know I know what's right for yah. Always have. I'm the only one that ever loved yah. Ain't no one ever gonna love you 'sides me." the foggy mirror only reflected a distorted shell, all too familiar to Daryl.

"I don't want you to go." Lori leaned against the closet door, glaring hard at her husband. "How could you be so careless?" She was always accusing him like that, no matter the situation. She was the polar opposite of the cute cheerleader he had fallen for in high school, though she had retained her freakishly slim figure into adulthood. Rick continued to leaf through his collared shirts in silence. "What is **wrong **with you?" Her skeleton fingers whipped the door open, making it slam into the floral papered wall. Carl started to cry from somewhere in the house, making his parents glare at each other accusingly. Always in accusation. This place wasn't a home to Rick and Lori Grimes, happy couple with a baby. It was a house of accusation and silence.

"What do you want from me Lori?" he was defeated, his voice revealed that much. When he did talk to her he only sounded pained.

"Well, Rick," she said his name like it was something disgusting, a disease. "I don't want you to go on this stakeout tonight!" Her face mutated into a snarl, her pretty thin eyebrows sinking down the bridge of her nose. "That is what I've been telling you ALL NIGHT LONG!" Carl howled over his mother's exasperated yelling making Rick bite his cheek to keep from striking her.

"Dammit, Lori." he sighed, only making her angrier.

"Damn me? Damn ME?! What is **wrong** with you Rick? You're emotionless, you're silent. Do you even have feelings? Ever since Carl was born you don't talk. Do you not love us? Is that it?" She was still wailing like she would be for another hour. Rick was used to the routine by now. It was always the same, like she was reading off some twisted script. Or that she'd seen _Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolfe _one too many times. He'd stay calm even though she hurt him every time she said that he didn't love his son. That he didn't love her. He wasn't sure if he loved her, but he certainly loved his son.

"No, Lori, you need to calm down." Rick deadpanned going back to the closet, deciding on a casual plaid button down.

"Calm down? Rick, how can you say something like that? I am calm! I've never been calmer in my life!" she stalked after him as he went through the house collecting his wallet and keys. "Cant you see that you're endangering us? I should never have let you take that job. Your son could become fatherless. Don't you care about that!" She knocked over the porcelain vase that had been Rick's mother's, one of the few objects Rick had to remember her by. Lori had never liked it. Lori got rid of things she didn't like, things that weren't convenient for her. She didn't seem to care about consequences.

She had broken yet another thing of his. He would never damage her property like she did his, but she just didn't respect him enough. She didn't respect the father of her child. Rick's lip curled back away from his teeth in a disgusted grin. He could only shake his head in fury. No way could he hit her or throw the delicious words that curled around his tongue in her face like he wanted to. Rick wasn't abusive like she was. He couldn't give her the satisfaction. She only did half the things she did for the reaction. This wasn't a happy house. He would pretend it was though.

He leaned close into her, trapping her to the bookcase the vase had been perched on. She trembled, anticipating a blow that wouldn't come, she would like that. Lori would just love to bring him down to her level. He brushed his lips against her cold cheek in an almost kiss, coming back with a fake smile. She didn't know how to react when things didn't go her way. "Bye dear, see you tomorrow." he whirled around and slipped out the tiny bungalow, his lips tasting bitter. He'd won another round in a losing war.

The Black Leaf's busted neon sign gleamed oddly against Rick's windshield. How he'd ended up here he wasn't sure. Well, he knew how he'd gotten there. He'd made the plan to lie to his wife and pretend to go out for his job after to talking to Shane. He needed to see Daryl. The kid needed help. Why he needed to see Daryl he didn't know. He just needed to make sure that the dark young man hadn't killed himself or anything. Maybe that was what he needed to help him with. It was like Rick needed to need.

Shane hadn't found any files on Daryl, he was as clearer than his blue eyes. There was no drug use history or any arrests. The only thing they had been able to find was his year in foster care.

With a sigh he pulled his keys from the ignition and exited out into the night. He checked his locks twice before crossing the street, thankful for the little traffic there was. Any more and he may have turned around and ran home. The door stuck at first but caved open with a dry scrapping unaccompanied by a bell or a warm hello, making Rick uneasy. The bar wasn't empty despite it being a weeknight. Bikers in leather jackets with swastika patches slouched together around the well loved pool table, wannabe gangsters in baggy graphic shirts and cargo pants with chains whispered to one another conspiratorially, thugs with facial tattoos glared at nothing and everyone all at once. The Black Leaf was intimidating with an atmosphere that you loved to hate. Rick shakily crossed the worn wooden floor to the bar's scarred wooden surface, not receiving any of the stereotypical glares from the patrons as he thought he would.

He sat unsteadily on the old barstool, fingering the knots and deep grooves of the old wood. A bald man with a foul disposition and a blank face approached the bar assessing Rick and giving an amused snort. Rick wasn't the usual cliental the bartender read it in the young man's nervous expression and youthful glimmer. "Alright, kid, what do you want?" he looked down his crooked nose at Rick through his un-amused half lidded eyes. A startled Rick looked up at the well guarded man.

"Jack and coke, extra ice." he muttered, avoiding eye contact. Rick wasn't a fan of confrontation despite his job- and his wife. The man in front of him had seen the cold, hard world and spat right back into its face. A man capable of god-knows-what with the emotional level of the bar he was leaning against. The man made an annoyed _tch _sound like Daryl had the night before, it made Rick's heart do little flip-flops.

"No, kid. I mean what do you want **here**?" his age abused fingers thumped about the space in front of Rick, putting his nerves on edge. He could see the scars laced around the older man's fingers, now dented with age spots. How old the guy was, Rick couldn't be sure, but he was older than his years no matter how extensive that was.

"Ah, what do you mean?" his throat clenched making his voice scraggly.

"Oh, come on, kid." he sounded just as exasperated as Lori had earlier. "This isn't your scene. What do you want from my establishment?" his monotone voice was sandpaper and grit, maybe from years of smoking, nonetheless intimidating.

Rick swallowed his fear thinking the old man could smell it, wondering if he had the bloodhound nose he pretended to. It wasn't like he was doing anything illegal, and technically he wasn't **stalking **Daryl, just making sure he was okay. "I, uh…" he cleared his throat, "What nights does Daryl work?" phew it was out. By the scrunched face the owner was making he wasn't too happy. But then he chuckled. A sound Rick thought would never come from the man. It was heavy and forced with every breath. Condescending.

"Well I'll be," the owner mocked while he moved along the bar, finally fixing Rick the drink he asked for, "I never thought…" he didn't finish the thought but rested his forearms on the counter along with the drink.

"Never thought what?" Rick couldn't help but be curious. The neighborhood seemed to spawn interesting people. He buried his nose in his drink, taking a gulp.

"I just never pegged Dixon for a fag." Rick's quick inhale caused a choking fit, half a mouthful of burning drink slipping into his windpipe. It only seemed to amuse the owner more, trying to help the younger man by thumping a heavy hand onto his back. "Well, Dixon is a good kid, so what can you do?" he continued. "Best treat him right. That kid has been through a lot of shit in his life. More than anyone else I know." He warned, holding his face close to the officer's. He didn't correct the older man from fear. "What's your name anyway?"

"Rick."

"Well, Rick, I'm Mike." he stuck his hand out to be shaken as if he hadn't just called him a fag and threatened him. But who would question such a scary man? His hand felt like his voice. Painfully rough. "Daryl should be in anytime now. He usually isn't late but he's supposed to be on his shift right now." The door behind the bar swung open to reveal the scowling form of Daryl, disheveled hair and blue eyes gleaning in the bar lighting. "Speak of the Devil." Mike murmured, "Drink's on the house, kid." he sidled away form the bar, patting Daryl on the shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen.

Daryl.

"Rick." Daryl greeted with a hitched nod and tight lips. "What you doin' here?" his eyes scanned Rick's figure without focusing on any detail, as was his habit. He didn't look into people's eyes when they were talking, he couldn't handle it.

"Um," he tilted his drink up innocently towards Daryl. "Hard day. Thought I'd have a drink." The darker man nodded, playing uncomfortably with his jacket's snaps.

"No, Rick, I mean what are you doing **here**." He finally met Rick's eyes, the melting ice blue rings freezing his soul solid. "Did you come lookin' for me?" Daryl didn't want to see Rick, he was just another reminder, just another face to sneer at him and say how broken he was. Rick made a whining sound like he couldn't quite start his words just right.

"Yeah, I did come to see you…" he looked into his glass at the melting ice, worrying his lip. "Look, Daryl. I'm worried about you." he sighed out, waiting for the biting response.

Someone was worried about him. Daryl didn't really know how to respond to that one. The only times someone had worried about him was the time he threatened to break Bobby Wrighting's nose in the tenth grade. Merle didn't even worry about him… Rick was saying that he was worried **for** Daryl. People just didn't do that. What would the cop get out of worrying for Daryl, there was nothing to gain. It was pointless, wasn't it? "Watcha mean?" He couldn't help the self-conscious hand that want to play with his lips. Rick smiled inwardly, almost enjoying seeing the strong man so unsure of himself.

"Just wanted to check to make sure you're okay," he trailed off, rolling the glass between his fingers idly. "Look, I need to talk to you." Rick couldn't sit by and let Daryl live his tormented existance. He'd done that all his life, looked away from the dark corners of the world, pretending the evil things didn't exist. When he'd joined the force he had hoped to rid the world of some amount of pain, even if just a little. He'd done nothing so far. Daryl was his chance at redemption, his chance at saving someone. A chance to be the hero that he craved to be. He needed Daryl to be safe. Rick had no idea why he'd created this obsession about protecting Daryl, but ever since the few minutes in his car, the redneck had become leeched into his brain.

Daryl snorted and rolled his shoulders awkwardly. "'Bout what?" he busied himself with whipeing down the counter, avoiding Rick's gaze. When Rick didn't answer Daryl huffed angrily and threw the cloth aside. He liked Rick. That made him angry. He didn't want to like Rick, white trash like him wasn't supposed to be nice to cops. It'd be best for the whole social hierarchy if Daryl took Rick by the collar and tossed him out of the bar. He couldn't do that though. So he was just left to fume, though he really wanted to talk to Rick about anything and everything, which just pissed him off more.

"Wanna get a cup of coffee or something?" Rick cleared his throat, smiling down at the misplaced bartender. He knew what he was asking for. He'd probably get punched in the nose for the implication, but he really didn't care. Rick needed some excitement in his life and talking to Daryl Dixon would get him that.

Daryl glared into him hard for a long moment sending icy trails down Rick's back. He picked up his rag again, brushing off his hands. Murderous intent lurking in his crystal depths. He then walked away from the bar completely, vanishing into the back. A swinging door crushing all his dreams. He reckoned he just wouldn't get to save the younger Dixon.

He sucked on his drink giving up all hope, preparing himself for the lonely drive home. Lori would want to hear all about the stakeout that never really happened. He wasn't good at lying, though he'd had plenty of practice. He sighed, pulling away from the shack of a bar. The street was emptier than when he arrived making his exit quicker than he expected. The parking lot had a scary glow. He couldn't help but shrink away from the shadows, fearing what hid in the dark. He fumbled his keys making them fall onto the pavement just under the driver's side door.

"Rick!" He jerked up knocking his skull against the door handle. With muttered curses he peered nervously over the car's hood. Daryl was jogging across the street, quickly closing the distance. Probably ready to punch him in the throat.

"Hey." Daryl panted, "You, ah, want that coffee?" he swallowed hard, and in the moon's light Rick could make out the blush shinning on the darker man's cheeks. Jogging in the windy night made Daryl's hair tangle across his forehead. Rick loved his messy hair. Wait, what? Coffee? Rick just stood there smiling like an idiot, mouth slack. And Daryl found himself in Rick's car for a second time.

**A/N: oh god. ****J I hope y'all like. **


	6. Panty Huntin'

**A/N: So before you guys burn me alive just please realize that I'm the only person that can finish this fiction… so if you kill me it will never get done. Haha… Happy Thanksgiving!**

**MacDixy**

**Warnings: foul language, idiot men, emotional roller coasters.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from the Walking Dead and I make no profit from this fiction other than all the cuddly feels.**

The Stray.

Chapter 6 Panty huntin'

Daryl pulled his heavy Carhartt coat on hoping to get some mild protection from the blistery air. Merle had fallen into a drug induced, drooling half coma soon after Daryl's shower, successfully leaving the younger alone to his thoughts. Not that being alone was all that great in his current mood (foul if you hadn't guessed) so he ended up sulking for half the evening before finally pulling on some clothes and huffily leaving for work.

As much as Daryl hated to admit it, Merle had been right. There was no way anyone would- or could- ever care about him like Merle did. He'd learned that a long time ago but had forgotten as the years grew in number and the bloody beatings lessened. Blood always seemed to bring a good old Dixon family reunion.

Being so wrapped up in his thoughts for the hours after his shower, he had forgotten about work again. That surprised him being that he was always jumpier than a jack rabbit never inclined to sit around and usually happy to do work. Maybe not happy, Dixons didn't really do happy all that well. Neither would his boss when he showed up twenty minutes late, he thought in malcontent. Depression was an extremely inconvenient thing always jumping in at the worst of times. Anger was much better, he liked anger a lot more than that depression shit he'd been experiencing in random boughts all morning.

He just needed Merle to shout some sense into him like always. That never failed to screw his head back on just right and send him marching of into war. He traded his grimy white t-shirt for one with the bar's insignia on it. He blanched a bit when he realized the shirt was gray but the flame-like black leaf decal cut the shade in a way that made it much less morbid.

The word of the day seemed to be morbid, so Daryl just went with it as he tromped down the colorless street. Everything was really just pissing him off now that he'd gone color blind and all. He'd be cussing out songbirds for singing so lovely or punching babies for laughing so adorably if he didn't man up soon. He was being a man in the only way he knew. The man Merle had raised him to be. He was angry because men were angry. He should lash out at those pussy emotions he'd been feeling. Real men didn't cry. Real men didn't talk about their feelings.

Daryl throttled the Black Leaf kitchen door open with a deep scowl on his face and nearly body checked Glenn "Watch out, Asia" he snarled as the dish boy struggled to regain his footing with his bin full of dirty drink glasses. The kid looked terrified as usual but that was the first time Daryl had caused that look. _Whatever_. He just shoved on heading deeper into the sweltering kitchen and flinging his coat in the direction of the saw horse that for whatever reason Mike had deemed necessary for a bar's kitchen.

Daryl liked the bar's owner/ manager/ janitor. He was a good classic American man with a gravely voice, hands that had built a deserving life and deep set eyes. Mike didn't broadcast his emotions over the loudspeaker, he never over praised, just a nod or a hand on the back had his employees giddy. Mike was a man that demanded respect and Daryl quietly gave it, even if the man was a Yankee.

Mike didn't however tolerate lateness. It had never been a problem before in the two years Daryl had been working at the Black Leaf. Unlike Merle, Daryl respected the privilege of having a job. He didn't mind having to work two or three of them knowing it would keep Merle somewhat safe with a roof over his head and himself something to ear.

Now that he was late due to his little depression episode his whole job security was in jeopardy. Really, could he be any more of a fuck up?

"Yo Dixon, your lady couldn't find her panties?" he waved off the fat cook T-dog's greeting with a silencing hand as if he could physically push the sound waves away form his ears. The bastard always said the weirdest stuff like the guy was on his own personal mission to make Daryl blush to death if possible.

"Always check the ceiling fan, you wouldn't think they'd get stuck up there, but I'm telling you it'll cut back on all those hours spent panty hunting." He hurriedly shouldered through the second door before T-dog could see his bright red face, entering behind the bar.

His eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dimmed down lighting and pink glaring splashes from the neon signs. The first person he saw was Mike who he was prepared to get torn apart by but the owner gave hi a smile instead. That was more than a little rare. Had the guy been diagnosed with cancer or would he just punch Daryl's teeth down his throat later?

Mike glanced back over his shoulder in the direction of the bar counter where only a couple of patrons had decided to camp tonight. His eyes swept over the face of the guy sitting closest, smiling meekly over the brown liquid in his glass. His short curly hair looked surprisingly light tonight though it seemed a bit unkempt like he'd been running his hands nervously through it. He was wearing a casual looking plaid shirt that fit his shoulders nicely letting their rigid shape peek under the thin cloth. Daryl liked the color of his eyes, the way they mixed with the false glow of the numerous neon signs in the establishment. He never thought a person could have lavender eyes, but Rick did.

The smile that the cop wore looked like he'd just seen a strip show for free at one of Vegas' most expensive clubs. He was so entranced that he didn't register Mike's palm patting his back. Why did Rick smile like that for him? It felt like Daryl was intruding on something private that a lowlife like him shouldn't see. He didn't deserve to have someone smile like that for him.

"What you doin here?" even to his own ears he didn't sound right. He sounded mean and just down right scary. Though he really felt almost happy that Rick was here. But he needed Rick to get out of here before something bad happened. Before he managed to suck the color out of those lavender eyes and turn them that haunting gray.

"Um," Rick chocked uncertainly on his words before holding up his barely touched beverage. "Hard day. Thought I'd have a drink." Bullshit. He couldn't figure the other man out though and found himself toying with the snaps on his thin jacket avoiding eye contact with the officer. He didn't like all this barking and snapping he knew he'd need to do to just get Rick away. He'd do it though.

"No, Rick, I mean what are you doing here." Eye contact. The lavender circles shone with confusion and worry. He didn't like this game, no, but he'd play. He was good at pushing people away. "Did you come looking for me?" okay, so he was also a little curious. It wasn't every day someone sparklier than fine crystal walked into the Black Leaf. People like Rick didn't go seeking out Dixons unless they wanted to lock them up. Maybe Merle had over dosed again and didn't make it this time.

Oh shit. Daryl's heart pumped painfully, the worry of losing his only relative far too pressing to let him think rationally. He never should have left the apartment. He knew better than to leave Merle alone with that many drugs. He knew that his brother had just bought more, his couch wasn't that plush so it was obvious when another sack of narcotics got shoved into one of the cushions. He felt so awful for ever wishing that he had been an only child. He cursed Merle for his fondness of the drugs.

He steeled himself for the bad news nearing a panic attack. He didn't have the money for a proper funeral, or burial prices, or any of that stuff. He knew that there was always a possibility that Merle would die but he never thought it would be so soon. Living with a junkie had its dangers. Selling Merle's stash wouldn't get him anything and he couldn't take out another bank loan. Damn, he was so screwed.

"Yeah," _Oh, fucking thanks Rick. Damn mind readers. Hang on, Rick couldn't read minds so what had he said yeah about_? "I did come to see you." Oh. Come to see…? Him? Daryl Dixon? He was tempted to do a quick one-eighty and make sure there wasn't someone standing behind him. He felt a little light headed with relief along with obvious bafflement. "Look Daryl I'm worried about you." About him? Like he was worried about him robbing a store or something? Or worried about his well being? He wasn't a fan of looking people in the eyes but with Rick it was becoming a habit. Yeah, Rick was worried for him, but not in the pitying way the social workers and foster care people had. This was all new.

"Whatcha mean?" He floundered, struggling with his own tongue.

"I just wanted to check to make sure you're okay" Rick must have been tapping into Merles stash too. "Look, I need to talk to you." _Shit_. looked like he wasn't out of the danger zone yet. Tendrils of dread pierced his midsection making his stomach hurt and his head spin. He felt small, woozy, and vulnerable. Something bad was coming, it had to be.

"Bout what?" he stared down at Rick needing a reply and royally pissed when he didn't get it. He let out a breath sharply and threw the bar cloth he'd been playing with to the side. The man was beyond annoying.

Rick's lips pursed out in contemplation while he rolled his glass in his hands. After sucking up some liquid courage into his bloodstream he faced Daryl head on and point blank asked, "Wanna get a cup of coffee or something?"

A date. Rick had almost given him a heart attack because the guy didn't have any damned friends of his own to go out with. Wasn't that just lovely? He felt his eyes twitching as it usually did when he contemplated murder. The numbskull had his blood pressure on a roller coaster, if Daryl had a doctor he saw regularly the guy would prescribe anti-Rick or Grimes protection. He'd be dead if he hung out with the doofus for much longer.

It was a good thing Daryl like taking risks. Also it was never too late for a good caffeine injection. All thoughts of pushing Rick away had vanished.

Being too worn down from the fear of losing Merle and the compelling mystery of a date with Rick Grimes he wiped off his hands and made his way to the kitchen hopefully to convince Mike to let him have the night off. After busting through the door and almost killing Glenn again, he saw Mike with a very uncharacteristic smile that made him wary. Why was everyone smiling at him like that? Normally he got maybe a smile a week if lucky.

"Mike, look, I know-"

"Yeah kid. Just go have fun." The older man said turning away into the kitchen where T-dog was laughing at him.

A confused Daryl quickly followed. "Daryl, what the hell are you still doing here?" Mike seemed almost agitated as he tinkered with the leaking faucet.

"Mike I-"

"Take the night off." He didn't have any idea why his boss was so willing to give him the night off, or even so insistent. He hadn't even asked and Mike was practically punting him out the door. But the older man's word was law so Daryl quietly snagged his coat from the sawhorse and re-entered the bar.

Rick, of course, was no where in sight. The only remnant, hint or clue that he had been there was the empty glass sitting all by its lonesome.

The bar didn't seem nearly as bright.

Daryl was such an idiot that he had forgotten to accept Rick's invitation. He'd walked off without a word like the complete asshole that he was. What had he expected Rick to think? The poor guy probably thought that Daryl was giving him the cold shoulder.

Containing the urge to slide over the counter top like some high cocked cowboy he calmly crossed the bar. Most of the patrons didn't take fondly to sudden movement. Breaking into the brisk run that his legs itched for would likely end with him having more bruises and fewer teeth than before.

The air outside was a welcome relief though the cold made him scrunch his eyes trying his best to seek Rick out. It didn't take too long. The man stood out like a lit light bulb in a mine. All the brick and dark corners of the neighborhood couldn't be illuminated but Rick sure as hell seemed to be toying Rick was standing beside his car, keys in hand. Something in Daryl's apathetic mind just sort of shut down and he was stuck watching, frozen like a statue the road between them a yawning crevasse, forcing the two away from one another as the other man got closer to leaving his life for good.

A slip of Rick's fingers and his keys on the ground had Daryl right back in his mind.

"Rick!" he cupped his hands around his mouth attempting to possibly reach the man on the other side of the too wide roadway.

The other certainly heard, his head colliding with this door handle. Daryl felt a little remorseful for startling the man but was too happy to be wholly concerned.

It was a windy night and he could see Rick's face was flushed from the cold as he jogged toward him coming to a stand still only when standing directly In front of the officer. Even without the odd neon signs Rick's eyes looked lavender.

"Hey" he bit his lip and carelessly tumbled over his words not caring a thing for tact. "You, ah, want that coffee?"

Rick's face was worth all the embarrassment and awkward fidgeting. First he looked befuddled , then something close to awed excitement, finally he regained his composure and smiled slyly. The smug bastard.

The officer's face looked more than a little distorted, as if his mouth was slinking towards his nose trying to hide his smile and horribly failing. Without thinking he walked around the car's front and opened the passenger door for Daryl leaving both men blushing and shuffling awkwardly. The awkward blunder couldn't damper either's pleasant mood looking forward to the other's company and the opportunity to relax away from the nagging wife and to have an entire night off.

Securely fastened in the warm interior of Rick's car mere inches of plastic console separating the two warm bodies they ventured out into the cold night in search of caffeinated relief.


End file.
